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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24431881">Luckiest Baby in the World</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mfingenius/pseuds/mfingenius'>mfingenius</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Don't copy to another site, Everybody Lives, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Mpreg, Post-War, Pregnant Draco Malfoy, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Spy Draco Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:07:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,512</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24431881</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mfingenius/pseuds/mfingenius</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re staring,” Malfoy says.  </p>
<p>“I’m not.” Harry is. He just - he can’t see it. </p>
<p>“You can’t see it yet, Potter.” Malfoy sounds miffed.  </p>
<p>“I’m not trying to,” Harry lies, finally tearing his eyes away; he looks out the window in a desperate attempt to get a single thought into his head that isn’t what the fuck.  </p>
<p>“Look,” Malfoy says. “It’s not like I’m telling you that you have to be a part of its life. I only-” </p>
<p>“How do you know it’s mine?” The question is out of his mouth before Harry can think better of it, and he immediately regrets it because of the way Malfoy’s face shutters, turns cold. </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>127</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2483</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Luckiest Baby in the World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay so I'm sort of sad to be posting this (only because I enjoyed writing it so much) but I really hope you'll enjoy it!<br/>I want to give a million thanks to my beta K because her comments honestly give me life and she is the most helpful person ever &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You’re staring,” Malfoy says. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not.” Harry is. He just - he can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. Malfoy is wearing an admittedly oversized jade jumper, but Harry thought he’d at least be able to see something. He can’t bring himself to say anything, and he can’t look away, and he can’t think. He’s... frozen. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t see it yet, Potter.” Malfoy sounds miffed. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not trying to,” Harry lies, finally tearing his eyes away; he looks out the window in a desperate attempt to get a single thought into his head that isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>what the fuck. </span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look,” Malfoy says; his tone - impatient and annoyed - doesn’t match his posture. His fingers are twitching uncertainly, he’s chewing at his lower lip, and he looks paler than usual. Harry would say - if he didn’t know better - that Malfoy is terrified. “It’s not like I’m telling you that you have to be a part of its life. I only-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you know it’s mine?” The question is out of his mouth before Harry can think better of it, and he immediately regrets it because of the way Malfoy’s face shutters, turns cold.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was a virgin when you fucked me, Potter,” Malfoy says, rather crudely. He’s definitely miffed now, but he sounds uneven. His cheeks are red, and his glare has narrowed. “And I haven’t slept with anyone since then.” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he says hollowly. Malfoy’s pregnant. Malfoy’s pregnant with </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> child.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry fought a war. Harry </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> fought a war, he spent the last year on the run, the one before that only trying to survive, he gave himself up to Voldemort not long ago because he felt like he had no other choice. Malfoy spent the last two years spying for the Order in a house full of Death Eaters, doing anything that was necessary to give their side even a sliver of an advantage. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry doesn’t see how either of them can be good parents.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-” He doesn’t know what to say.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy rolls his eyes. The color in his cheeks has darkened, and his eyes are suspiciously watery, but he looks away before Harry can see it properly. “Merlin, Potter, you’re fucking exhausting. I knew you weren’t going to want to have anything to do with this. Fucking convenient that I’m the one who has to deal with it.” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he stands, and Harry’s eyes are again drawn to Malfoy’s stomach. It’s hard to believe there’s a baby growing there. A </span>
  <em>
    <span>baby</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His </span>
  </em>
  <span>baby. He watches Malfoy walk out of their shared dorm - and Harry should say something, he thinks, because that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> baby in Malfoy’s belly, even though he can’t seem to think - and slam the door. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t know what to do.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows nothing of pregnancy, much less male pregnancy, and he knows even less of fatherhood. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I never had a father</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks absently. Does it matter? He can’t tell; every thought in his mind is only half-formed and fleeting. He paces around the room worriedly for half an hour, and then he does the only thing he can think of. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He goes to Hermione. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s rooming with Padma Patil – for the sake of inter-house unity, no one is rooming with someone from their same house, which is how Harry ended up with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Malfoy</span>
  </em>
  <span> of all people – and fuck, he hoped it wouldn’t be awkward because of their one-time-shag the night the war was over — but Padma is nowhere to be seen, and Ron is sitting on Hermione’s bed, frowning lightly at Harry. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is something wrong?” He asks. Harry’s worse at pretending that nothing is wrong than even Ron is. He’s at least better than Hermione, though.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Malfoy’s pregnant,” he says absently. “It’s mine.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione’s head whips towards him, hair flying around her, and Ron’s eyes widen in what would be a comical way if Harry were feeling like laughing.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sit,” Hermione says, both sternly and faintly.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s lecturing him, he knows, but he can’t hear anything she’s saying. She seems to realize it, too, because she sighs, sits beside him, and squeezes his hand. Ron wraps an arm around his shoulders, and the three of them sit in silence for a long time.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Harry goes back to their shared dorm, he half expects Malfoy not to be there. He thinks it’d be fitting of the stubborn bastard to find another place to sleep. He’s shocked to find that Malfoy </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> there, huddled up in his bed with no less than a thousand pillows around him. Harry vaguely wonders if it’s a pregnancy thing or a Malfoy thing.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy sighs heavily and closes his book. “Why are you staring, Potter?” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry hadn’t realized he had been. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” he says. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Grey eyes still on him, and Harry looks away. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He clears his throat. “I, uh - I'm-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words hover uselessly. He doesn’t know how to finish his sentence.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>, comes to mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I do want to be a part of this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is a close second, even if it’s not quite true. Harry thinks he’s too scared shitless to really feel the </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be a part of this, even if he knows – logically – that he does.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry sits on his bed, awkwardly thinking of things to talk about. It’s not only that Malfoy is pregnant; even if he weren’t, Harry likes to get along with his dorm mates, and his mind healer - he started seeing her shortly after the war - asked him to try to be a little more casual with friends, and not to solely depend on Ron and Hermione. She’d explained that it was normal, after everything they’d been through, and that it would probably help them all to have some new people they could count on, without necessarily letting go of each other. Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever let go of Ron and Hermione, nor trust anyone more than he does them, but he’s trying to widen his circle, as the healer had mentioned.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t think he’s doing a very good job.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to sleep,” Malfoy says, when Harry doesn’t say anything more. He closes the curtains around his bed with a wave of his wand, and Harry spends a few more minutes sitting in bed, trying to get his thoughts together. He doesn’t succeed.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>* </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry wakes with a hand on his shoulder, and he immediately grips the wrist and twists it, grabbing his wand from under the pillow and jabbing it into the person’s side. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, Potter,” someone groans, and Harry blinks frantically. It takes him a full two minutes, but he recognizes Malfoy’s pale blonde hair, shining in the moonlight. He looks down to see his bruising hold on Malfoy’s wrist, and immediately lets go, dropping his wand with a clatter. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he says. He feels hollowed out, as he usually does after nightmares, like nothing is quite right, not even the way he’s breathing. Malfoy brings his wrist close to his chest cautiously, looking at Harry with a slightly wary gaze. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You sounded distressed,” he says quietly. “I assumed you were having a nightmare. I shouldn’t have touched you.” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry can barely concentrate on the first two sentences, mind slow and confused, his brain trying to convince itself that he’s fine now. That it’s over. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he says numbly. He doesn’t think he can go to sleep again tonight, and he doesn’t want to stay in the dark room. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could go to Ron’s, he knows, but he doesn’t want to wake him. He could go down to the common room, light the fireplace, but- He’s momentarily blinded when Malfoy turns the light on. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Harry asks. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you planning to sleep?” Malfoy cocks an eyebrow. Harry shakes his head mutely, and Malfoy rolls his eyes. “I thought so.” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy sits down on his bed and leans back on the pillows - he hasn’t knocked any of them to the floor, which is mildly impressive to Harry even in his current, distant state of mind - and folds his hands over his lap. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Harry asks again, cautiously. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy throws him an irritated look. “Well? Come on.” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on?” Harry echoes warily. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Do you need an engraved invitation?” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry does, because Malfoy can’t possibly be insinuating an invitation to his own bed. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Merlin, Potter, if you’d rather not-” Malfoy reaches over to turn the lights off, and Harry grabs his wrist frantically. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait!” He doesn’t want to be in the dark right now, he can’t. “I - I’m sorry. I - yes.” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gets off his bed with shaky steps, and steps into Malfoy’s. The blond huffs and pulls his legs closer to himself so that his knees are up to his chin, leaving enough space for Harry to sit, so Harry does, quietly. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What now?” He asks. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We sit,” Malfoy says. “And you shut up.” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry shuts up, and they sit together. It’s not comfortable, per se, but it’s a hell of a lot better than sitting alone. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry spends the next few days half avoiding Malfoy, half uncomfortably aware of him. He seems to notice the blond whenever he’s in the room: what he’s doing, what he’s eating, who he’s with. Every time he sees him, he tells himself he needs to talk to him, and then proceeds to not do that. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Classes have faded to the background, and Harry finds his mind wandering back to Malfoy at any given moment. He has a thousand questions about the pregnancy, and he doesn’t know how to voice any of them. Hermione has been reading up on male pregnancy almost obsessively, leaving books with gentle notes near Harry in hopes that he’ll pick up one of them. He hasn’t, yet.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t know if he wants to.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Malfoy,” Harry says.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy’s curled in his bed with a book – this is the third book he’s read in as many days, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pride and Prejudice </span>
  </em>
  <span>– and the mountain of pillows only seems to be getting bigger. Harry wants to ask about it, if only to avoid speaking to Malfoy about what they really need to talk about.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We need to talk.” Harry forces the words out like it’s painful. It is, sort of; he doesn’t know how to do this, </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> of this, and he’s terrified of fucking it up before it’s even begun. “About…”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gestures to Malfoy’s stomach.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy’s face becomes entirely impassive, and he says, in an overtly casual voice, “I haven’t forgotten, Potter. You said you didn’t want to have anything to do with this.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t say that,” Harry says quietly.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t say otherwise.”  </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry’s been turning this over and over in his head; he’s been trying to find a way to tell Malfoy that he’s going to be a part of this, wants to step up and be responsible, what everyone will expect of him – and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he can’t imagine what will happen when everyone finds out about this – but every time he tries to do it, the words get stuck in his throat.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-” he begins, then swallows. “I – am going to be a part of this. I want to be.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy looks at him cautiously, and the impassiveness cracks just a little; Harry can see a small sliver of hope in Malfoy’s face.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This isn’t halfway in, Potter,” Malfoy warns. “You’re either in all the way or you’re not. If you don’t want to have anything to do with this, I won’t force you, and I won’t tell anyone that it’s yours. But you can’t come back later. And if you’re in… you can’t back out after it’s born.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Walking away is more tempting than Harry would like to admit; it’s certainly the easier option, but it’s not the one he wants to make, not really.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He exhales. “I’m in. I am.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy nods, face softer than Harry has seen it before.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” he says quietly. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry doesn’t know exactly what to do, so he does what he can think of; he reads the books Hermione keeps shoving at his face, which leads to long evenings in the library – because Harry doesn’t want to check out the books, and Madam Pince already thinks Ron’s pregnant and keeps giving him </span>
  <em>
    <span>looks, </span>
  </em>
  <span>which Ron is entirely oblivious to, because he doesn’t make the connection between his girlfriend researching male pregnancy and Madam Pince</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>– where Harry and Hermione read pregnancy book after pregnancy book.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron refuses to do that – says it’s too weird – but he helps in his own way; he owls his mum and strikes up casual conversations with the professors who have been pregnant. After a day or two, Harry’s quite certain that the professors have a betting pool on who it is of the three of them that is pregnant.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry’s honestly too busy to care about it.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy doesn’t read pregnancy books; he seems to not acknowledge the pregnancy at all, which is driving Harry a little insane. He’s jumpy and anxious as it is, and Malfoy is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> helping it at all. Harry can tell Remus – who’s returned this year to continue teaching Defense – knows something is going on, but he hasn’t quite worked up the nerve to tell him about it. Plus, after he’d told Ron and Hermione, he’d realized that he and Malfoy had never discussed whether or not they were telling people.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he and Malfoy are even a ‘they’.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry knows that he’s known to become a little… overprotective in his worry, but it’s an entirely different level with Malfoy. Because Malfoy spends a lot of time reading in his bed, Harry checks on him every now and then, pretending to do homework, or to check on Hedwig – who always hoots reproachfully and seems to know that Harry isn’t really there to see her – and, if he’s not in their room, Harry looks for him on the Marauders’ map and goes to wherever he is to make sure he’s alright.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Potter, what are you doing?” Malfoy asks, deadpan, the fifth time in as many hours that Harry comes into the dorm to fiddle aimlessly with the papers on his desk.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Harry winces, trying to sound as innocent as possible.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not up to anything,” Malfoy tells him, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know if you remember, but I spied for you for </span>
  <em>
    <span>three </span>
  </em>
  <span>years. I think I've earned the right to a little peace and quiet without you hovering around to see if I'm doing something wrong!”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not what I'm doing!” Harry says quickly, because, fuck, that’s really not what he wanted Malfoy to think. In fact, he thought Malfoy hadn’t noticed, which, in hindsight, had been quite stupid of him. Malfoy </span>
  <em>
    <span>spied</span>
  </em>
  <span> for them; </span>
  <em>
    <span>observing </span>
  </em>
  <span>is literally what he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I - I'm just – I-"</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spit it out, Potter.” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m worried!” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy’s expression morphs to surprise, and then to cautious curiosity.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” he asks.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Harry echoes indignantly. He gestures wildly to Malfoy’s midriff, and Malfoy looks down at his belly and then up at Harry with a disbelieving expression.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wrinkles his nose, and his eyebrows draw in a tight frown. “Is that why you’ve been reading so many books about pregnancy?” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>noticed</span>
  </em>
  <span> that?” Harry demands, face heating.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy looks at him, deadpan, and then picks up his wand and waves it wordlessly. A moment later, the latest book that Hermione had checked out – called </span>
  <em>
    <span>teen pregnancy, do’s and don'ts</span>
  </em>
  <span>, in which, Harry might add, the first advice is, </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>- flies into his hand. He cocks an eyebrow at Harry, whose face heats further.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wanted to be informed,” he defends, snatching the book from Malfoy, who snickers quietly. “Plus, how can you be so relaxed about this? I’m not even the one who’s pregnant, and I'm - I feel like - I'm-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gestures uselessly, and Malfoy sighs and rearranges himself on the bed, leaving his book dangerously close to the edge. He hugs his legs closer to himself, and, though he still looks amused, he doesn’t look as confident as he did a moment ago.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not relaxed about this,” he admits. “I’m-” he shakes his head. “I’m very – </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>relaxed about this. I just – I didn’t... </span>
  <em>
    <span>plan</span>
  </em>
  <span> this. And if I begin reading the books, I-” he exhales harshly. “I’m not ready to accept that responsibility yet.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry chews on his lower lip and cautiously takes a seat on the edge of Malfoy’s bed, in case the blond decides to hex him after all.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand,” he says. Malfoy seems more surprised about that than anything else that’s happened yet, as if Harry hadn’t spent four days procrastinating telling him that he wanted to be a part of their baby’s life because he thought it could somehow go away. “I - I’ll make you a deal.” Malfoy looks hesitant, but he nods for Harry to continue, so he does. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>read the books, and – in return – you let me – let me take care of you.” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He regrets the wording as soon as he says it. As much as it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> what he means – and fuck it if he can understand why, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to take care of Malfoy – he doesn’t think Malfoy will appreciate the way he said it. He probably has the best healers already doing that, why would he want Harry-</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Malfoy says.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry looks at him disbelievingly.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I - I'll read the books, too,” Malfoy says quietly. “I’ll try, I promise, I just-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to. Harry can’t imagine how terrified he’d be, were it him.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Harry says.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their relationship is admittedly fragile, but Harry makes an effort to be as open with Malfoy as possible because he never sees Malfoy with anyone, and he doesn’t want him to be pregnant </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>alone, and, well, Harry can’t do much about the first one, but he can do something about the latter. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Potter,” Malfoy says, annoyed, pausing his conversation with Hermione. “I swear to Merlin, if you slip one more green bean onto my plate when you think I’m not looking, I will throttle you.” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ever since they made their deal, Harry has been reading even more than before; his brain is crammed with pregnancy knowledge rather than Transfiguration spells, and he’s supposed to be studying for his NEWTS, even if he probably won’t need them. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry has taken to bringing Malfoy to meals with him, Ron, and Hermione. Oddly enough, it’s enjoyable. Sure, it’s stuffy, and awkward, and Ron looks down at Malfoy’s belly even more than Harry does – and that’s many, </span>
  <em>
    <span>many</span>
  </em>
  <span> times – but Hermione’s acceptably functional, and she manages to get Malfoy talking for a few hours, which is the most Harry’s heard his voice in nearly three years. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he’s not bigoted, as he was years one through four, nor terrified for his life, like in years five through seven, Malfoy is actually pretty good company. He’s quiet, a lot of the time, but when he’s not, he’s witty, and funny, and a lot of other adjectives Harry never thought would apply to Malfoy.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t think you knew,” he defends feebly, pulling away from where he was reaching towards the green beans again. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I knew.” Malfoy rolls his eyes. “You’re about as subtle as a troll.” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry’s almost offended, but he realizes that the fact that Malfoy knew means that he kept eating the green beans to appease Harry, which makes him surprisingly giddy. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine.” He rolls his eyes. “Then you choose, but you need to eat some vegetables.” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s one of the things that the books keep mentioning, an ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>appropriate diet’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Harry thinks that, most likely, Malfoy has been given a diet by his healers, but he doesn’t seem to be following it; over the past few days, Harry’s gotten acquainted to Malfoy’s eating habits, which are even more horrendous than his own.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had </span>
  <em>
    <span>ice cream</span>
  </em>
  <span> for breakfast that morning. Harry doesn’t even know where the fuck he got it from.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy rolls his eyes at him. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t like vegetables,” he says petulantly. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you need them,” Harry says, vaguely gesturing towards Malfoy’s stomach, where a baby is growing. Fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> baby. Harry still can’t believe it. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want to,” Malfoy says, pushing his food around. Honestly, it’s very little food, and that’s with Harry coaxing him to eat. Harry doesn’t want to know what he’d eat if Harry weren’t there.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Merlin, Malfoy, how do you ever plan on teaching your child how to eat vegetables when you don’t even eat them yourself?” Harry asks. He sees Hermione wince from the corner of his eye, and Ron grimaces.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy’s eyes glaze over, and then immediately become distant. Harry panics.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to bed,” Malfoy says abruptly, standing up. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait!” Harry says. “Wait, I’m-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then Malfoy is walking away and out of the great hall faster than Harry can say </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘sorry’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Harry.” Ron sighs, taking a bite of one of Hermione’s chips. Hermione slaps his hand away.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>* </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Harry comes back to their dorm after dinner, he finds Malfoy red-eyed and sniffling in his bed, tissues littered all around him.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Malfoy?” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy looks up at Harry with a tight glare. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go away Potter,” he says. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is my room too.” Harry points out mildly. Then, “Are you okay? I’m sorry for what I said at dinner.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t care about what you said.” Malfoy sniffles petulantly. Harry exhales, relieved. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” he says cautiously. “Then why are you crying?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not crying,” Malfoy snaps. Then, “It’s the hormones, I can’t – I cry about </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and – and then you had to open your big stupid mouth!”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> upset about my comment, then?” Harry asks, confused. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>said-</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I’m upset about your comment, you prick!” Malfoy snaps, and then bursts into another fit of sobs, wiping at his eyes frantically. “I don’t know how to take care of a baby! I haven’t even – gone to the healer and-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You haven’t gone to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>healer</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Harry exclaims.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy looks up at him with red-rimmed eyes and shakes his head mutely.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Harry asks. “We slept together over four months ago, you can’t skip </span>
  <em>
    <span>four months </span>
  </em>
  <span>of healer appointments!”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t even know I was pregnant until the second month!” Malfoy snaps. “And I don’t see </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> having to go to Healer’s appointments every damn month! What am I even supposed to tell Pomfrey? Or </span>
  <em>
    <span>McGonagall?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry sits on the edge of Malfoy’s bed. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, I’ll – I’ll tell McGonagall, if you want,” he says. “But – you need to see a Healer.” In a rather bold move, he grabs Malfoy’s hand. Malfoy stiffens, but Harry squeezes tighter. “We need to know everything’s alright. I want to know that you’re alright.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy wipes at the last of his tears with the sleeve of his pajama shirt. His eyelashes are long and wet, and his cheeks are pink. Harry thinks they weren’t, just a moment ago, but he must be wrong.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’ll go with me?” he asks hesitantly.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry promises.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pregnant,” McGonagall echoes, deadpan.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry shifts on his seat. He feels like a misbehaving first year, sitting across the Headmistress’s desk with her looking down at him with pursed lips and a tight frown. He nods.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy, seated beside Harry, pale-faced and with his knuckles white from how hard he’s squeezing the arm of his chair, nods too, albeit a little more uncertainly.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall says again. “Pregnant.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Harry confirms. If McGonagall avoids them for four days, she’ll be taking it as well as Harry did. It’d be oddly comforting.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Four months pregnant,” McGonagall says.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry nods again. Malfoy hasn’t said a single word in the entirety of this meeting, but Harry’s used to doing reckless, stupid things, like telling McGonagall things she doesn’t necessarily like, and he did agree to tell her, so he’s taken charge of the talking.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>McGonagall exhales deeply and sits down in front of him.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Harry Potter, I could just-” she doesn’t finish. Harry’s glad she doesn’t. She takes a deep breath. “Alright. Mr. Malfoy is pregnant.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry nods again.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Malfoy says, eyes downcast, and McGonagall’s entire demeanor softens. Harry knows that, because McGonagall was Malfoy’s only contact while spying, they developed a bond. Watching it is something else entirely, however; he’s never seen either of them behave like that with other people. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing to be sorry for, Mr. Malfoy,” she says briskly. “We will – this will be fine. It’ll be alright.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy nods, and Harry thinks that those three words from McGonagall do more to help Malfoy feel better than anything that Harry has done or said in the past week has done. It’s a little insulting, considering he’s the father of the baby Malfoy’s carrying.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, he’ll accept anything that’ll make Malfoy a little less anxious.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When was your last healer’s appointment?” McGonagall, of course, gets right down to business. She’s always been a no-bullshit sort of person. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Late July,” Malfoy says.  </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>July</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” McGonagall asks. Malfoy winces. “It’s September.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy looks away, and McGonagall purses her lips tightly.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very well.” She says. “As we are a school, we don’t have the proper equipment to take care of pregnancy appointments. I’ll set up an appointment with Healer Whitehorn, and we’ll check that everything is alright.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I – thank you,” Malfoy says.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>McGonagall gives them the tiniest of smiles.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning, Mr. Malfoy.” Healer Whitehorn had a three-year waiting list. McGonagall somehow got them an appointment within a week’s notice. “I understand that this is your first visit to a Pregnancy Healer?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy nods uncertainly. He looks terrified; he’d spent all night tossing and turning, he’d eaten little at breakfast and then thrown it all up because of morning sickness. He’d spent the next twenty minutes trying to convince Harry to cancel the appointment, but Harry had refused to.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy’s pregnancy symptoms seem to be getting worse – he’s been vomiting every morning all week – and Harry had already been worried enough without hearing the man who’s carrying their baby puking his guts out every morning.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, let me say welcome.” The healer smiles. “Take a seat, please.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy looks at Harry uncertainly, and Harry smiles lightly and nods. He doesn’t know what to do; it’s clear that Malfoy needs his support somehow, but Harry doesn’t know how to give it. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy takes a seat on the healer’s chair, and Harry stands uncertainly next to him.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, Mr. Malfoy, if you could unbutton your trousers and pull your shirt up.” The healer goes over to her desk and opens a file, enchanting a quill to take down notes automatically. Malfoy goes red, but he does as the healer says. Harry fights not to stare; not only because Malfoy is attractive – and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is – </span>
  </em>
  <span>but because, if he’s quite honest, he’s curious about whether or not Malfoy’s showing yet, but he’s not. He’s been wearing loose clothes since they came back to Hogwarts, so Harry hasn’t had a chance to see. The healer turns back to them. “Thank you. We’re going to do some simple spells just to make sure everything’s alright.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Harry says, because Malfoy seems too terrified to say anything.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The healer nods and begins waving her wand in intricate patterns. Harry can see the enchanted quill writing down the results on the file – floating beside the healer – but he doesn’t know what any of them mean.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, everything looks good,” The healer says after a few minutes. “Your health is alright, and so is the baby’s. Would you like to see?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See?” Malfoy sounds frightened, and Harry instinctively grabs his hand. Malfoy immediately squeezes, so hard that Harry winces.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” the healer says pleasantly. “A magical sonogram. You can see your baby.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy grips Harry’s hand tighter.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Harry answers for him. “We’d like to see.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The healer smiles and, with a wave of her wand, makes a black picture project into the air. A second later, a heartbeat fills the room.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry’s speechless.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did it go?” Hermione asks anxiously, the second Harry and Malfoy get back to Hogwarts. By the looks of it, she’s been anxiously pacing around all day.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry looks cautiously at Malfoy, but instead of getting angry that Hermione knows, he merely blinks dazedly down at the sonogram again. He hasn’t let go of it since the healer gave it to them.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everything’s alright,” he says. Hermione sighs, relieved, and Ron claps his back supportively. The rest of the visit had gone by quickly, after the sonogram; the healer had asked Malfoy if he was experiencing certain symptoms – some of which Harry didn’t know about – and he answered yes or no. She’d given him some potions for them, and had prescribed prenatal vitamins to make sure everything would be okay. “We got a sonogram.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can we see?” Ron asks excitedly. Harry looks at Malfoy – still staring at the sonogram with an odd expression on his face, and smiles fondly.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think not yet,” he says. “The shock isn’t quite over.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione nods understandingly, and Harry leads Malfoy to their dorm room by his shoulders. Malfoy doesn’t even look up, and only drops himself in his bed when they get there, still staring at the picture.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry wants to have another look, too, but he doesn’t think Malfoy will take it well if Harry even suggests that he might try to take the sonogram from him. After an entire hour in which all Malfoy does is stare at the picture, Harry finally speaks.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everything alright?” He asks.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy blinks, and doesn’t answer immediately.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside </span>
  </em>
  <span>me,” he says, and he sounds wondered. “I - there is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>baby</span>
  </em>
  <span> in me, Potter.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry sits up on his bed. “Yeah.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A </span>
  <em>
    <span>baby</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Malfoy looks up at him, and Harry can’t bite back a grin. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Our </span>
  </em>
  <span>baby.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry’s heart pounds at Malfoy’s phrasing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Our </span>
  </em>
  <span>baby. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> baby. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Holy </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>their </span>
  </em>
  <span>baby.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you have the sonogram?” Hermione asks excitedly, the moment she opens the door.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m having a baby.” Harry cannot stop blinking.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s having a baby. Holy fucking shit he’s having a baby.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Hermione says, bewildered.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pushes past her in the doorway to step in, and Ron glances up at him, amused, from the bed. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m having a baby!” He exclaims. “A real, breathing, moving, pooping baby! What if I mess it up? What if it’s born with teeth? What if something happens to Malfoy? I can’t raise a baby, I’m eighteen! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Malfoy </span>
  </em>
  <span>is eighteen! He’s not supposed to have a baby yet! I can’t do this, I can’t, I can’t-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, Harry, </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Ron says, sitting up. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry didn’t realize he hadn’t been breathing, and now his lungs are burning. He doesn’t know how to breathe, how the hell is he supposed to teach a baby how to breathe?! Do you have to teach babies how to breathe? That can’t be right, can it? How do you teach a person to breathe? It’s not-</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Harry, mate.” Ron sits him down on the bed. “You’re freaking out.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know!” Harry says, frantic. “How can I </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>? A </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> baby, Ron! It’ll cry, and it’ll sleep, and it’ll move, and feed, and get hurt, and it’ll be the product of Malfoy’s and my parenting! How the hell are </span>
  <em>
    <span>we </span>
  </em>
  <span>supposed to be parents? </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>have no clue about babies, and Malfoy was stupid enough to get knocked up in the first place-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey!” Hermione says, indignantly. “May I remind you, Harry James Potter, that you did a big part of the ‘knocking up’ business!”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly! How the hell am I supposed to teach my kid </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get knocked up or knock someone up when they’re eighteen? Holy shit, how am I supposed to teach them </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>? I don’t know what I want to do after Hogwarts, ‘Mione! I thought I’d have time to figure it out, but with a baby there’s never time! And what about Malfoy? I don’t know what he wanted to do after Hogwarts, either! What if he wanted to become a Curse Breaker or something equally dangerous? What if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>dies</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Oh my god, I don’t want to be a single dad-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mate, you need to slow the fuck down,” Ron says, mildly impressed. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Look</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Is it ideal? No. Is it going to be easy? Probably not. But Malfoy’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span> yet-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yet?” Harry echoes.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my God, Harry, he’s not going to die!” Hermione huffs.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll be able to get into a career whenever the fuck you want, you’re the Savior of the Wizarding World, the baby isn’t going to be a baby forever, and Malfoy will be right there with you! And even if neither of you have </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> idea on what to do, you’ll always have Mum! You think she’s going to go anywhere? No, you’ll bet your arse she’s going to want to be there sleeping in the baby’s room for the first three months. You’ll want </span>
  <em>
    <span>less</span>
  </em>
  <span> of her help, not more, believe me.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The reminder that he’ll always have Molly Weasley is comforting: she raised seven kids; she’s the greatest mum in the world. She’ll always be on Harry’s side.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” he says, marginally calmed down. “You’re right.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Though you should probably tell her soon,” Ron says. “I think she might actually bite your head off if you tell her when Malfoy’s six months along or something. She won’t have enough time to knit onesies.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh no</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry hadn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought</span>
  </em>
  <span> about telling his family; the Weasley’s, Sirius, Remus. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>*</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you going to tell your parents?” Harry asks, one night during dinner.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione’s eyes snap over to him, as if in warning, but Malfoy doesn’t look very angry, he just shrugs a shoulder.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My mother is unreachable,” he says. “And I don’t fancy going all the way to Azkaban to have my father yell at me about being pregnant, so no, I reckon I won’t. What about you?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry chews on his lower lip. “I want to tell Molly, and Remus, and Sirius. If you’re - ready for them to know yet.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy sighs dramatically. “Not like they won’t find out soon, anyways. I’m getting fat.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Harry asks disbelievingly. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy shoots him a glare. “You don’t have to flatter me, Potter, we’ve clearly already slept together.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not what this is about!” Harry says, cheeks burning. Ron snorts, and Hermione pinches his thigh. “You’re not fat! You’re bony and pointy as ever!”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not pointy!”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are,” Harry assures him. “But it’s a good kind of pointy. I’d love it if our baby was as pointy as you.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “They won’t be. With my luck, they’ll look just like you do. A mini you, kicking around in my belly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Joy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it’s said sarcastically, but Malfoy’s eyes are a little misty when he says it, a small smile on his face, and Harry can’t help but grin.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Harry,” Remus says kindly, when Harry steps into his room. All the teachers have them, but Harry had never been inside one of them. It’s oddly surreal. “Want some tea?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure.” Harry doesn’t, not really, but he thinks it’s better if Remus is doing something while he tells him, although maybe not with boiling water. “On second thought, could I just have a glass of water? Cold?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Remus agrees, and walks over to the small kitchen counter. He grabs a glass, and Harry figures there’s no better moment, so he blurts it out.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Malfoy’s pregnant,” he says, louder than he meant to. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Remus stops with the glass halfway to the tap.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s mine,” Harry continues, because he forgot that part and maybe Remus will think Harry’s just saying it as a general fun fact, when he’s very much </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Remus turns to look at him, setting the class down on the counter without having filled it. “What are you going to do about it?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Harry asks, taken aback. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is he going to keep it?” Remus asks. “Is he going to – </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>keep it?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Harry says. He’d never thought that not keeping it was an option; Malfoy had never mentioned it. “No, we’re keeping it. I just – wanted you to know, because – well, you’re going to be a grandfather.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t know if it’s the right thing to say; technically, Sirius and Remus aren’t anything of his, but it’s the truth. Any and all children Harry has will be their grandchildren, just like Molly’s, and he wants them to know.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Remus’s eyes are watery. “And you’re happy about this?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry nods.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>A second later, Remus is pulling him into a hug, somehow laughing and crying at the same time, saying he’s happy for him, and all Harry can do is hug him back.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” When Harry comes back to his dorm, Malfoy is standing only in his pants in front of the mirror, looking at himself sideways.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Potter,” Malfoy says, distractedly. He doesn’t seem very embarrassed to be caught in his underwear, but then again, he doesn’t seem to be paying attention at all. He’s looking at himself, then turning sideways, then looking again, and then his lips pull downwards unhappily.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” Harry asks.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy grabs his jumper from the floor and pulls it on – it's so big it comes down to his thighs – and then turns to face Harry with his arms crossed.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right,” he says sadly. “I’m not showing.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Harry hadn’t meant that as a bad thing; telling Malfoy he wasn’t fat was just handling the present crisis, and he didn’t think it would lead to another future crisis. “I thought you didn’t want to be showing.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t care.” Malfoy sniffles, but Harry can see tears gathering in his eyes. “It just – it'd be nice. To know that our baby’s there.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry frowns, baffled. “Well, they’re there. The healers said so. We’ve heard their heartbeat.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Malfoy says. “But that was a moment. The rest of the time, it’s just – as if they’re not there.” He pauses, and then. “The books say I should be showing by now.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do they?” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy nods. “A first-time pregnancy usually develops a bump from twelve to sixteen weeks. I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>eighteen </span>
  </em>
  <span>weeks along, Potter, and there’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Harry says. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>see it?” Malfoy asks.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, no,” Harry amends. Malfoy’s lower lip trembles, and Harry rushes to continue. “Look, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> we’ll begin to see it soon! It can’t be much longer, you’re already in your second trimester, and you’ll definitely be showing before the third.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy looks at him imperiously. “You better be right, Potter.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am,” Harry says, with a certainty that he doesn’t feel.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> right. Two weeks later, Malfoy </span>
  <em>
    <span>pops</span>
  </em>
  <span>. One night, he goes to sleep, everything alright, and the next morning – a Saturday – he wakes Harry at four in the morning, shoving at him excitedly.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get </span>
  <em>
    <span>up </span>
  </em>
  <span>Potter, </span>
  <em>
    <span>look!” </span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it?” Harry asks groggily, shoving his glasses on and grabbing his wand in case something is wrong with Malfoy or the baby.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look!” Malfoy says, and Harry has to blink a couple times, because it’s still dark out.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What am I looking at?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You arse, </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Malfoy grabs his hand and places it on his stomach, and all of a sudden Harry’s wide awake. Beneath Malfoy’s shirt, his stomach feels distinctly </span>
  <em>
    <span>round</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry sits up, pulling Malfoy into his bed and pulling his shirt up. Malfoy’s grinning like a maniac; the bump isn’t very big, but it’s there, and it’s gorgeous.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look,” Harry repeats vehemently, even though he’s already looking. “It’s gorgeous. You’re gorgeous, Malfoy.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t even realize he’s said it until Malfoy clears his throat. Harry looks up and finds him bright red, flush high on his cheeks. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” he asks. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Malfoy says quickly. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry thinks he’s been struck dumb by the color on Malfoy’s cheeks. Or, more specifically, by the fact that </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>put the color on Malfoy’s cheeks. It’s been over two years since Harry managed to get a reaction out of Malfoy - excluding their desperate night together - and it makes something old wake inside Harry, the part of him that used to be viciously satisfied whenever he saw he was getting under Malfoy’s skin. It’s not quite the same now, no longer vicious, but odd and squirming in his belly. It’s... thrilling.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should stay here tonight,” he says; predictably, Malfoy’s cheeks heat further, and Harry grins at him.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a git,” Malfoy says, slapping his arm. He begins to stand, but Harry grabs his wrist.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean it,” he says. “It’s only a few more hours before we have to get up anyway, and I’d like to keep a hand on Peanut if you’re not opposed to the idea.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s what they’ve started calling the baby, because calling them ‘it’ and ‘them’ wasn’t working.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not,” Malfoy says carefully. “Opposed to the idea.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lies down on Harry’s bed, and, once he’s settled in, Harry lies down with him and sneaks an arm around his torso to splay a hand across his stomach; though Harry doesn’t know what they are, they’ve been getting a hell of a lot closer lately, and Harry wonders – late at night, when he’s too tired to fight the thoughts away – how it could be between them, if they dated.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>A real relationship.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the worst part is, anytime Harry tries to crush that part of him, that small hope, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not completely, because they're already having a baby together! They get along, they’re going to raise a child, and Harry’s pretty certain they both have feelings for each other.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but he hopes it isn’t.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hell, Malfoy is going with him to tell Molly today, Harry thinks that’s pretty telling. He could leave Harry alone to the Weasleys, but he’s not. He’s going to be right there with him.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry moves closer to Malfoy and falls asleep, content.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s going to kill me,” Malfoy says nervously.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re standing outside the Burrow, and Harry had to hold Malfoy’s hands to convince him to walk the last few meters, since he seems to have somehow convinced himself that Molly Weasley is the scariest person in the world, hungry for his blood.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s not,” Harry says patiently, even though he’s very nervous, too. “If she’s going to kill either of us, it’ll be me for not telling her sooner.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>That might be a very real possibility, Harry knows. Molly will be crazy excited for her first grandchild, so she won’t risk anything happening to them just because she wants to hex Malfoy; </span>
  <em>
    <span>Harry </span>
  </em>
  <span>however, is carrying no baby, so he’s not protected from her wrath.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe we should-” Malfoy begins, but it’s too late; the door opens, and Molly Weasley steps out.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought I heard voices!” She says. “Harry, dear, I’m so glad you’re visiting. Ah, and Draco Malfoy. How are-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stops dead in her tracks, because she catches sight of their joint hands. And then of Malfoy’s bump.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Molly looks accusingly at Harry.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Congratulations?” Harry asks with a sheepish grin. “You’re going to be a grandmother.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pulls them both into a crushing hug.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m really not hungry anymore, Mrs. Weasley,” Draco says apologetically; the woman keeps shoving food at him, and he thinks he’s eaten more now than any other day of his life. Everything was delicious, of course – Weasley wasn’t exaggerating when he said his mum was the world’s best cook – but Draco physically can’t eat any more.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, alright, are you sure dear?” Molly asks frettingly. “You’re terribly skinny. Are the Hogwarts elves feeding you enough? Oh, no mind. I’ll pack leftovers for you to take.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she disappears into the kitchen again.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See?” Harry asks; he looks radiant, and Draco blames the baby for the odd flipping in his belly when he looks at him, even if he knows it’s for an entirely different reason. “She’s not mad at you. She’ll practically worship you now, for giving her her first grandchild.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Draco’s terrified at the idea of having a baby, he is, but Harry’s made it a lot easier. He’s there when Draco can’t sleep, and when the healer’s potions stop working and he throws up, and when he has strange cravings – he's even gone through the trouble of keeping a small, stocked pantry in their room, because Draco has cravings at every hour of the day </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> night, and they can’t keep waking the house elves – and for </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It makes Draco more than a little bit emotional.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As long as she keeps feeding me, I’ll worship her back,” Draco says. Molly had made a ridiculous amount of food for just the three of them – Arthur Weasley being at work in the mornings – and Draco secretly hopes she packs them </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> the leftovers. He has no problem with eating her cooking for the next six months. Or the rest of his life, for that matter.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Say that to her face and she’ll love you,” Harry tells him with a grin.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco grins, and then shakes his head. “Did everything go well?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s still nervous, if he’s quite honest; sure, Molly Weasley fed him, and hugged him, and cried on his and Harry’s shoulder for half an hour, but he’s not entirely sure she’s not angry, still.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he knows it’s irrational, it’s just... well, he can’t imagine either of his parents reacting anywhere </span>
  <em>
    <span>near</span>
  </em>
  <span> similarly if he were to tell them he’s pregnant. His father would disown him – especially because if he doesn’t, and Draco has this baby, they’re off the Sacred 28 list – and his mother... well, she’d tell him she supported him because she’d feel she should, but she wouldn’t be fine with it, not really, and it’d show in relatively ‘harmless’ comments about the ‘choices he’s making’. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s happened before.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everything’s perfect,” Potter smiles, and Draco’s belly flutters.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He really ought to get a grip.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Welcome again, gentlemen.” The healer is their second stop of the day. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hullo,” Harry says. Malfoy is less nervous than the last time, but he’s still gripping Harry’s hand like a lifeline.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Five months now, are you?” Healer Whitehorn smiles, gesturing for Draco to lie down on the table. “Gorgeous belly to show it, too.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy’s cheeks flush.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he mutters.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re going to do a few health checks, I might change the potions you’re taking depending on your symptoms, and you’ll get another sonogram,” Healer Whitehorn says. “Unbutton your trousers please. Would you like to know the sex of the baby?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy unbuttons his trousers, pushes them down slightly, and lifts his shirt.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do we want to know the sex?” Harry asks him, rubbing his thumb over Malfoy’s knuckles. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy chews on his lower lip as the healer casts a series of spells over his belly – and Harry still can’t believe it, that Malfoy’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>showing</span>
  </em>
  <span> now. Harry can </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, where their baby’s growing.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” he says. “You choose.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Harry says, swallowing. The healer looks at him expectantly, and he swallows again. “Err - no. We – want to wait until Peanut’s born.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Healer’s lips quirk, and she nods.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” she says. “Everything looks good, both with the baby and with you. You’re twenty weeks along, which means the baby’s the size of a banana. Any new symptoms?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Umm, well.” Malfoy thinks about it. “I get really weird cravings. A few headaches. Oh, and my legs have been cramping. I’m mostly done with morning sickness, though.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, that’s good.” The healer nods. “I’ll give you something for the headaches and the leg cramps, and you can stop taking the potion I gave you for nausea. There’s not really much to do about the cravings, except to fulfill them. Generally, your body knows what it wants.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They speak about a few other things – mostly what they should expect these next few weeks of pregnancy – and then they leave with a brand-new sonogram.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Should we start buying baby stuff?” Malfoy asks. They’re sitting on the floor of their dorm, sharing some of Molly’s delicious leftovers. Harry has an arm around Malfoy; only to keep a hand on Peanut, he tells himself, but it’s not quite true, because he’s also enjoying the way Malfoy’s leaning against his chest. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Harry says honestly. He’d been worried about losing the baby – male pregnancies are riskier than female ones, even with good healthcare – but according to all the books he’s read, they’re past the high-risk stage. “Shouldn’t we get a place to live first? Sirius and Remus are living in Grimmauld Place, and I know they’d have no problem letting us stay with them, but I figured we’d want our own place-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You want us to live together?” Malfoy asks, voice fragile.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry frowns, cheeks heating. “Well, yeah. I assumed we’d - yeah.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d pictured it, sort of; a small flat for just the three of them, Malfoy, he, and the baby; they’d want to sleep in the same room, at first, since the baby would be staying with them, and afterwards, after they’d moved the baby to their own room, it’d be too much of a mess for one of them to move out, so they’d stay together; maybe they’d get a dog, so Peanut could grow up with a friend. Maybe a cat, if Malfoy likes them better. Maybe both. They could have a small, cozy living room where they could have friends over, or Sirius and Remus. Between the late nights and the feelings, maybe something would eventually happen, between them.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy looks at him, and his eyes begin tearing up.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hate you, Potter,” he says, sniffling. “Why are you always making me cry?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry laughs. “Is that a yes?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a yes.” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few weeks later, it’s evident Malfoy’s pregnant; his uniform won’t fit, and Harry spends almost an entire hour trying to coax Malfoy into leaving the room.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’ll know I'm pregnant, Potter,” Malfoy says dramatically. “I’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> pregnant student.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” Harry says. “And we can cast a disillusionment charm if you want.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malfoy agrees only after Harry casts the charm; it turns out to be unnecessary. The second they walk into the Great Hall, chatter explodes.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it true you’re pregnant?” a Hufflepuff asks as they walk by. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Harry, are you really the father?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does this mean you’re together?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you going to do after this?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thankfully, the eighth years are wise enough not to say anything. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Though</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Harry thinks, looking at the way Hermione’s glaring tightly at anyone who even dares open their mouth, </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe ‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>wise’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t the right word</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Scared shitless of Hermione Granger’</span>
  </em>
  <span> might be more like it.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened?” Harry asks as he sits down. “How did they-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s in the Prophet,” Ron says angrily, passing Harry an issue of today’s newspaper.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Is There Going to Be a Baby Saviour?</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And underneath, a picture of Harry and Draco, hand in hand, walking out of the healer’s.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry grits his teeth.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit,” Malfoy says, and Harry turns to look at him. His cheeks are red from how everyone’s looking at them – even some of the professors – and he seems to shrink back a little. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Hermione says sincerely.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were going to find out anyway, Harry knows; they couldn’t have hidden Malfoy’s bump forever. Still, he wishes it wouldn’t have been like this.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>An owl swoops in, followed by another. And another. And another. And then there are dozens of owls swooping in, and students are screaming, and Harry has no idea what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> is going on.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This isn’t ideal,” McGonagall says, looking at both Harry and Draco sitting in front of her desk, and then the hundreds of letters sitting in her office; they had to put wards up to limit the owls that come into Hogwarts, so all mail is suspended. Which means that Sirius will likely kill Harry when he finds out about the pregnancy from </span>
  <em>
    <span>the Prophet.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Harry swallows.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco hasn’t spoken. The Howlers - because obviously there were Howlers – have, by now, all torn themselves to pieces, but it had been... overwhelming, to say the least. The Great Hall had been filled with screaming, from both the student and the Howlers, and after the professors had managed to calm them all down, Draco and Harry had been escorted to the Headmistress’s office, along with all the letters that had been dropped at them.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” McGonagall says. “I assume you don’t want to read any of them?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry and Draco shake their heads.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good.” And she begins throwing them in the fire, one by one with a glint in her eyes that Harry has never seen on her before.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a little bit scary.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> scary, especially when she begins cackling under her breath.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe I should leave,” Draco says quietly.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Both Harry and McGonagall turn to him.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“People are clearly not happy about this.” He gestures to his own stomach. Even if it’s public knowledge that Draco spied for the Order, and he’s been proclaimed a ‘war hero,’ it seems that not even he is good enough for Harry. The Howlers had screamed at them about ‘not good enough’ and ‘Death Eater whore’, because even if Draco did spy, he has the mark. “Maybe it’s safer if I – if we find a place to live, and I stay there. Until the baby’s born, at least.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry – </span>
  <em>
    <span>understands </span>
  </em>
  <span>the aversion to the Mark, he does. Malfoy’s been wearing loose jumpers and long-sleeved shirts for their entire year, so Harry’s never had to look at it, and, if he’s quite honest, he doesn’t want to.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>But at the same time, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> Draco didn’t take the Mark because he wanted to; he took the mark because he was playing a part. A part that was crucial to their victory in the war.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it’s not fair for people to judge him because of it, not while they were doing nothing for Harry but criticizing him whenever a new </span>
  <em>
    <span>Prophet</span>
  </em>
  <span> article came out, even if now they have the nerve to act like they’ve loved him all along.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can stay here,” Draco offers. “Finish the year.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” McGonagall says resolutely, before Harry can. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>No. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I am not letting one of my students be </span>
  <em>
    <span>run out </span>
  </em>
  <span>of school by a crazy mob. You’ll stay here, Mr. Malfoy you’ll take your NEWTS, you’ll have that baby, and you’ll graduate, I’ll make damn sure of that.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Curses sound foreign on McGonagall’s lips, and it makes Draco’s eyes tear up.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” he says.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know I-” Harry swallows. “I don’t care, you know that, right? About the Mark?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t you?” Draco asks. It's nearly midnight, and they’re both lying in their own beds. Harry hadn’t known Draco was awake, not really, except that by now he knows how he breathes awake and how he breathes asleep.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand why-” Harry swallows again, trying not to lie, somehow. “I know you didn’t have another choice.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thinks if he had to look at the Mark, now, he wouldn’t be able to hide his disgust, not for Draco, but for what it represents.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t want Draco to think that it’s towards him.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco doesn’t answer, and Harry doesn’t say anything more for a while.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who are the godparents going to be?” he asks, suddenly.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I figured you’d want Granger and Weasley,” Draco says, surprised.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do,” Harry admits. “But you should be able to choose someone, too.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t have friends, Potter,” Draco says, and Harry can hear him turning in his bed.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Harry says, awkwardly. He’s noticed, of course he’s noticed; since Malfoy began spying for the Order in fifth year, he’d pretty much alienated all his friends, and now, he's the only returning Slytherin. He gets along well with a lot of their classmates, but he doesn’t seem particularly close to anyone. “What about Hermione?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What </span>
  <em>
    <span>about</span>
  </em>
  <span> Granger?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re both brilliant.” Harry shrugs. They don’t spend time together apart from mealtimes, really, but Harry thinks they’d get along well if they gave it a shot. And he doesn’t think Hermione will have a problem with it.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Draco says. “Well. Maybe I’ll talk to her some time.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry hopes he does.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Harry Potter, I had to find out from </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Prophet</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because they’re eighth years, they’re allowed much more freedom than other students. Harry’d decided to visit Sirius, knowing that delaying the inevitable would only make it worse.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey.” He grimaces. “I was planning to tell you, I swear.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sirius wraps him in a hug, and Harry hugs him back tightly.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You had better,” he grumbles. When they pull away, Sirius looks at him. “You’re happy about this, right? Even if it is – a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Malfoy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry rolls his eyes. “Yes, Sirius, even if it is Draco.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t know when he’d started thinking of him as </span>
  <em>
    <span>Draco</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but it’s too late to go back now.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright then.” Sirius grins. “I have a surprise.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes Harry by the shoulders and guides him to the large living room of Grimmauld Place. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t tell Remus,” Sirius says.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the coffee table sit two bottles of Firewhiskey.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“May I sit?” Hermione looks up to find Draco Malfoy standing awkwardly in front of her.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re not very close, though they’ve been spending more time together due to the pregnancy; she’s reading about it, actually, as she has been anytime she’s in the library lately. Though Harry’s read a lot, he refuses to read quite as much as she does, and from what Harry says, Draco hasn’t read up on the subject.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It surprises her from him, honestly; of all the people she expected to face a problem completely uninformed, Draco Malfoy wasn’t one of them.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.” She pushes some books away and makes space for his things on the table; he’s only carrying a book – red with a thick cover – so he doesn’t really need it, but she thought it polite. “I - how are you?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine.” Malfoy might’ve changed, but there’s still traces of the pride he used to carry like a shield; it’s - if it’s even possible – even faker now than it was before.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” she agrees anyway, because they’re not good enough friends for her to call him out on it. He sits down, a little stiffly, and she wonders why he’s here. Not that she minds – the opposite, in fact, because she’s curious and wants to ask him a few questions about the pregnancy – but it’s, well, odd.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, she goes back to her book, and patiently waits for Draco to say whatever he needs to.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A baby,” Harry slurs. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>My </span>
  </em>
  <span>baby.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck.” Sirius exhales, taking another deep sip of the bottle. “A baby. You’re going to be a father.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to be a father,” Harry repeats vehemently. He never knew his father; he never had any sort of father figure in his life, not until Sirius and Remus recently, and now he’s supposed to raise a baby. A </span>
  <em>
    <span>baby</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Fuck, Sirius, how the hell am I supposed to be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>father</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dunno,” Sirius says. “Don’t know the first thing about babies. Y’know, when you were a baby, I used to take care of you all the time. Messed it up </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> much. Didn’t babysit you </span>
  <em>
    <span>once</span>
  </em>
  <span> without something ending up on fire.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry snorts, and then his eyes widen. “Exactly! What if I – set the house on fire or something? What if my baby </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates</span>
  </em>
  <span> me?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think your own baby can hate you,” Sirius hums. He pauses, seems to think about it. “I hated </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>parents.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See?” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They were bad people,” Sirius tells him, with a jerky wave of his hand. “As long as you don’t do anything they did, you’ll be fine.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry lets his head drop back with a groan.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gorgeous,” Granger murmurs; she’d asked to see the sonogram, and Draco – constantly carrying it around in his bag – had handed it to her. She’s been staring at it with teary eyes for a couple of minutes now, and Draco would make fun, except he’s in a similar state.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aren’t they?” He says fondly, running a hand over his belly distractedly. It’s gotten even bigger, and by now not even his robes will hide it, and he refuses to continue casting disillusionment charms. Everyone knows, anyway, so it’s not worth the effort.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granger shakes her head and gives the sonogram back. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Merlin, I never thought-” Her lips twist lightly, and she gives him a wry smile. “Of the three of us, I thought Harry would be the last to have kids.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You want kids with Weasley?” Draco asks, surprised. He’d always thought she’d want to do many things before she settled down with anyone.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granger flushes lightly. “Well, I think so. Someday, in a few years maybe.” She gives another smile, and then her eyes widen. “Oh, but don’t tell Ron. He’ll freak out.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco laughs. “Alright.” He pauses, and then begins to speak hesitantly. “I never imagined – I didn’t - I didn’t imagine myself like this, now.” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d wanted to do so many things; finish Hogwarts, get his NEWTS, get his acceptance to the Potions program in Brazil, one of the hardest to get into in the world. Travel. Maybe move away from England, never come back. When he found out about the pregnancy, he’d been – disappointed. Angry. He couldn’t quite imagine living in a big house with a kid. He doesn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> about kids.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lately, though, with Potter, and Mrs. Weasley, and the Healers, he can – see it. He can see himself and Potter in a house with their baby, can see Potter cooking up breakfast for them, can see them sharing quiet, secret kisses on the sofa after the baby’s gone to sleep.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It terrifies him.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you’re happy?” Hermione asks, frowning.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco looks down at his belly, can’t help but smile.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he says. “I am.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks up at her again.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t have to give anything up. I’ll do everything I wanted to, later. It’ll be fine.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s not sure he believes that, but he is sure that, whatever his new dream is, it includes Potter and their baby.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco.” There’s a hand on his shoulder and then someone’s shaking him. “Draco. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Draco.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He asks, sleepily rubbing at his eyes. He'd come back from the library after talking to Granger, and Harry hadn’t been there, yet; Draco had meant to wait up for him, but then had drifted off to sleep as soon as he’d laid his head on the pillows; at the beginning, the pregnancy wouldn’t let him sleep, and now, Draco could’ve happily slept for the rest of the pregnancy.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m here.” He squints in the dark, and manages to see Harry’s face, ridiculously close to his own. He makes a face and begins sitting up, but Harry won’t move his face, so Draco can’t. He narrows his eyes at him, and then Harry lets out a soft breath and smiles.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco smells firewhiskey.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you – </span>
  <em>
    <span>drunk</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” he asks, disbelieving.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>As far as he’d known, Harry had gone to his godfather’s to tell him about the pregnancy; he’d never imagined he’d come back clearly wasted.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A little bit,” Harry whispers. “A lot. Very. I am. But you can’t tell Draco.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite himself, Draco feels his lips quirk.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh?” he asks. “I can’t tell myself?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry shakes his head vehemently. “No, you can’t. You’ll be so angry.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco laughs quietly, and then abruptly stops when Harry pats his hip clumsily. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Move over,” he slurs lightly. “I want to sleep.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And your own bed is inadequate?” Draco asks, even as he moves over.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It hasn’t got you in it.” Draco’s belly flutters. Harry takes off his jeans – which Draco tries not to linger on, because as of late he’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>unbelievably</span>
  </em>
  <span> randy, and he simply cannot think about it right now – and then shucks off his jumper, getting into bed and pulling Draco close to him, keeping one hand on his belly and another one wrapped around him possessively, pulling him back against his chest. He buries his face into his neck – and really, even on the few occasions they’ve shared a bed, Potter has never been so touchy – and presses sloppy kisses there. “You’re amazing. I can’t believe we’re having a baby.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Better believe it, Harry,” Draco whispers, not quite believing it himself. “We’re nearly on our last trimester.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s twenty-six weeks along: two more before they’re into the third trimester, and only fourteen more before his tentative due date. Draco’s both anxious and terribly excited.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to the top knob of his spine. “I know. I can’t wait.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco thinks he can’t, either.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow, and Draco removes his glasses and folds them carefully, hanging them on the headboard.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry wakes up the next morning with a headache and a warm body in his arms, and, for a moment, he’s horrified he doesn’t know where he is or remember anything from the night before; he opens his eyes and gets a face full of white-blonde hair, which makes him pull back a little. He looks around, and recognizes his and Draco’s room at Hogwarts.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>His brain seems to finally begin working, and he realizes he has one arm – asleep – under Draco, wrapped around his waist possessively, and one hand on his belly, and he settles in again and moves closer, rubbing his thumb over Draco’s belly thoughtfully. He pulls on his glasses – hanging from the headboard – and looks down at him.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The winter holidays are getting closer, and he wonders if, perhaps, they could spend them together. He knows Draco won’t go home. He’s not been disowned by his parents, even when his part in the war came out, but Harry knows he loathes the manor. He’s seen the way his expression twists whenever anyone mentions it, so he suspects Draco won’t want to go back for Christmas.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry has been invited to the Weasley’s, as always, and though he does want to spend Christmas there, before this whole thing happened, he was planning to go to Grimmauld Place with Sirius and Remus for the rest of the holidays. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, he doesn’t know if that time should be spent looking for a place of their own. He and Malfoy slept together the day the war ended – they'd both been desperate, and hurting, and on a sort of high that let them not think about anything as long as they were wrapped up in each other – so Harry thinks his due date must be around mid-February, and it’s mid-November now, so they don’t have that long anymore.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their NEWTS are scheduled for January, and McGonagall has authorized for them to leave Hogwarts after that, to floo to and from school if they can, so they won’t have to keep Peanut at Hogwarts. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>If they want to have a place of their own, Harry thinks they ought to start looking for it now.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco turns in his arms, and, for a moment, Harry thinks he’s woken. He hasn’t; his eyelashes are long and fluttering across his cheeks, and there’s a flush on his cheeks as he buries his face into Harry’s chest, throwing a leg over his waist.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry chuckles.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>This, he realizes suddenly, could be them; this could be the rest of their </span>
  <em>
    <span>lives</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry thinks he wants that.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He considers getting up – he's famished, since he hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast the day before – but the moment he moves, Draco scowls in his sleep and pulls him closer, tightening his leg around Harry’s waist. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry laughs breathlessly.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What time is it?” Draco asks groggily, when he wakes up.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Almost four.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Four?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Draco nearly screeches, eyes flying open; Harry’s looking down at him with a terribly amused look on his face, and Draco scowls and feels his cheeks heat. “How is it </span>
  <em>
    <span>four</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t want to wake you up,” Harry admits; as more and more things begin filtering into his brain as sleep fades away, Draco feels Harry’s thumb, rubbing back and forth gently on the underside of his thigh, where his hand is resting. His leg is thrown over Harry’s waist, and they’re pressed as close together as Draco’s belly will allow.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Immediately, his cheeks are flaming, and he pushes Harry away as though he’s been burned, sitting up.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco?” Harry asks, immediately concerned, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> his voice is not helping Draco right now.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up,” he says, cheeks flaming; he tries to force the arousal away, but Harry places a concerned hand on his thigh – and Draco’s only in his boxers and a long shirt, which means his skin is hot and soft against Draco’s - and it’s all pointless.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s wrong, love?” Harry asks, and Draco doesn’t know why, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>turns him on more than anything else does.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Potter</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he complains, as if Harry knows what he’s doing.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” Harry asks again, earnestly, and Draco glares at him with burning cheeks. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m-” he says, wondering how to put this lightly. “I’m - </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> - less – it's hormones! I just – everything is – and when you call me ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>love’ - </span>
  </em>
  <span>and your hand-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry blinks at him dumbly for a minute, before a slow grin begins to spread across his face.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you trying to tell me you’re turned on? From </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” he asks, with a shit-eating grin.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco glares weakly. “It’s the hormones,” he repeats, the color in his cheeks intensifying. He buries his face in his hands, and Harry’s still grinning – he's </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> - but he pulls his hand away; Draco has to bite back a pathetic noise.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Harry says; he doesn’t sound very sorry at all. “Could I give you a hand?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco's skin’s always been sensitive, and the pregnancy has made it even more than it already was, and it’s been hell; it certainly doesn’t help that the subject of every fantasy and every daydream Draco’s had since he was fifteen is living in the same dorm as him, constantly looking like the sexiest, kindest, most handsome idiot Draco’s seen in his life.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Also the most </span>
  <em>
    <span>arrogant</span>
  </em>
  <span>, unbelievably smug idiot Draco has ever met in his life.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up, Potter,” Draco says, mortified beyond belief. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You </span>
  </em>
  <span>did this.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m glad to know I turn you on,” Harry says, sounding both smug and sincere, and Draco pulls his hands away from his face to shove him. Harry begins laughing.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>meant</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he says, shoving Harry harder when he only keeps laughing. “You knocked me up, you unbelievable </span>
  <em>
    <span>moron</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry actually falls off the bed with the force of Draco’s shoves, but he doesn’t seem to notice, as he keeps laughing while lying on the floor.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a child,” Draco snaps, but a small smile is growing on his face. He stands from the bed and non-too-lightly kicks Harry in the rib as he walks past him. “I’m going to take a shower.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Harry says, looking at Draco with impossibly bright eyes. Draco stills, for a moment, heart aching. Suddenly, he is inexplicably consumed by wanting Harry, and it’s not lust; he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> Harry to hold him, to kiss him, to call him </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> again. He swallows and looks away. “Let me know if you need any help.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks back at Harry, a mischievous grin on his face, and raises an unimpressed eyebrow, hoping he’ll be able to speak past the knot in his throat.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In your dreams.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he closes the door of their shared bathroom behind him.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he comes out of bathroom – with steam rising behind him, skin pink from the temperature of the water – Harry's still in the room, lying in his bed and reading one of the last baby books they’ve checked out of the library. He looks up at Draco and his lips quirk, and Draco feels his knees weak. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s annoying as fuck.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up,” he says haughtily, which makes Harry's grin widen.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t say anything,” he teases lightly. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco rolls his eyes and begins looking through his drawers for something comfortable to wear; Harry sits up.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been reading,” he begins.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t know you could,” Draco responds, grabbing a soft jumper from a drawer. “Is this a new achievement? Should I throw a party?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Harry says, amused. “I’ve been </span>
  <em>
    <span>reading, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and did you know our baby can hear us now?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t,” Draco says, because he didn’t. “What else have you found out?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Harry says. “It’d be normal for Peanut to be kicking by now. Are they kicking?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco frowns down at his belly sadly. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he admits, running a hand softly across his belly. “They’ve been so still. Do you think everything’s alright?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.” Harry frowns. He chews on his lower lip, and then seems to make up his mind. “I’ve done something.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did you do?” Draco asks, immediately filled with dread.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Harry rolls his eyes at him. “I’ve just – Sirius and I might’ve stepped out of Grimmauld yesterday. I bought a book.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For the baby.” Harry’s cheeks are red. “I want to read it to the baby.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Draco says. “Well, you won’t have to wait much longer. With how big I’m getting-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I meant - I mean, I want to read it to them </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Now, </span>
  </em>
  <span>now?” Draco asks, looking down at himself.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’re willing.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco nods, a little too quickly. “I - yes, of course. Just – let me pull my pants on. And – get me something to eat.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry nods, and Draco goes back into the bathroom, having grabbed a pair of grey pants and the jumper he’d been holding. After he pulls them on, he simply stands in front of the mirror and looks at himself; he’s gotten even bigger than he expected – he now regrets complaining about not showing, because it seems as though Peanut heard him and is making sure he gets what he’d wanted – and it’s getting hard to sleep at night, even if that’s all Draco wants to do.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He towel-dries his hair, which always makes it a mess, but he figures they’re not going anywhere; they must still have some of Mrs. Weasley’s leftovers from the third time they went to eat with her – the absolute </span>
  <em>
    <span>best</span>
  </em>
  <span> chips he’s ever had in his life and a few pieces of steak – so they don’t need to go out. With how late it is, it is unlikely lunch will still be on, anyway.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He steps outside, and Harry gives him an uncertain smile while handing him a plate with hot food; it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mrs. Weasley’s leftovers, and Draco’s mouth is already watering. He sits on Harry’s bed, balancing the plate on his belly – because it’s big enough for it – and Harry grins while looking at him.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco’s cheeks heat, but he pretends not to notice.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” he mutters, embarrassed. “How do you want to do this?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry lies next to him, face close to his belly, and begins reading the book; Draco begins eating.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is not even two sentences in when Draco feels it; a nice, strong kick to the side of his belly, towards Harry. He gasps.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Harry asks immediately, worried.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peanut kicks again.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They kicked!” Draco exclaims. “They kicked!”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They kicked?” Harry asks excitedly, leaning up on his elbows and pushing those horrible glasses up his nose.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco nods excitedly, grabbing Harry’s hand and pressing it to the side of his belly, where Peanut kicked. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Talk to them,” Draco orders. “Anything.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Oh. Umm, hi Peanut,” Harry begins, moving closer. “I’m - I’m Harry, I'm your-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peanut kicks again, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and it’s such an odd feeling, but Draco’s ecstatic at the thought of Peanut hearing Harry’s voice and </span>
  <em>
    <span>responding</span>
  </em>
  <span>, even if it is by kicking Draco’s belly.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I felt that!” Harry exclaims, pulling his hand back in surprise before pressing it to Draco’s belly again, firmly, smiling radiantly when Peanut kicks again. “Oh, Peanut. We already love you so much, baby. So much, you have no idea – you're going to be the luckiest baby in the world.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking at Harry, grinning like a fool, with his glasses askew and a baby book by his elbow, Draco can’t help but think he’s right.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peanut is already the luckiest baby in the world.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Congratulations! Your baby is as big as an acorn squash!”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The healer’s visit only gets worse from there; Draco’s been jumpy for the last few days because the baby won’t stop kicking, and week 29 of the pregnancy does not seem to be making him feel good. With the healer’s first sentence, he seems unbothered enough; it’s only when the healer starts talking about the actual birth – because it is a magical pregnancy, where Harry’s and Draco’s magic took care of the entire thing, an incision and a magical birth canal should appear over the next few weeks, and that they can do a natural birth or a c-section, but they should really go with the first one because it is much less risky, she says – that Draco entirely </span>
  <em>
    <span>freaks</span>
  </em>
  <span> out, as in literally stands up in the middle of their appointment and </span>
  <em>
    <span>walks out</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco!” Harry yells, running to catch up with him. “Draco! What’s wrong?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The size of an acorn squash, Harry!” Draco yells at him. “An </span>
  <em>
    <span>acorn squash</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay?” Harry says uncertainly, panting; Draco’s walking extremely quickly, and though Harry’s not running anymore, he’s not exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>walking</span>
  </em>
  <span> either. “That’s - not so big.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Not so big</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Draco screeches, turning to him so abruptly Harry nearly runs headfirst into him. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Not so big</span>
  </em>
  <span>? I don’t see healers talking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> getting cut open to get a baby out! Or worse, </span>
  <em>
    <span>pushing it out</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” His face is red, but he doesn’t stop talking. “And it’s only going to get bigger! It’s still eleven weeks until my due date, Harry! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eleven</span>
  </em>
  <span> weeks, and this little monster inside me is going to keep growing, and then I’m - I'm expected to </span>
  <em>
    <span>push it out</span>
  </em>
  <span>? No thank you! Peanut can stay exactly where they are! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Forever!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he takes off again, leaving Harry jogging to keep up with him. Honestly, how a pregnant Draco walks faster than him, Harry will never know. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco, come on!” He tries. “Okay, okay, I know it’s not me – I can’t imagine.” He can, actually, but it’s freaking him out, too, so he thinks it’s best not to say that. “But - when it’s all over, we’ll have Peanut, you know? And we’ll get to take them home, and they’ll be so cute, and small, and-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know how we could’ve also ended up with a baby?” Draco asks. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Adoption</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And I don’t have to push a </span>
  <em>
    <span>watermelon </span>
  </em>
  <span>out of me that way!”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, well, then that’s what we’ll do with the next one!” Harry tells him.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco stops abruptly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The next one?” he asks numbly.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry feels his face heating. “Err - if you’d like.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco stares at him, dumbfounded.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not right now,” Harry rushes. “We’re young, and – well, we’ve both got to admit that Peanut could’ve waited until we were older – not that I'm not happy that we’re going to have them now - I don’t regret anything, I really don’t, but I just think we might want to wait a bit and actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>plan</span>
  </em>
  <span> the next one, but-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is shut up when Draco grabs the back of his neck and pulls him in for an unexpected – but very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> welcome – kiss.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We kissed!” It’s the first thing Harry says when he bursts into Ron’s dorm; it’s empty, except for Zacharias Smith, reading on the bed that’s not Ron’s.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Weasley isn’t here,” Smith says with a cocked eyebrow and a grin. “But I assume this means you and Malfoy are together now?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Zacharias Smith is the biggest gossip, closely followed by Seamus, but, unlike Seamus, Smith is also a prick. Harry hates him.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean to tell you,” he says, rather uselessly.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.” Smith sits up. “Is it really yours? The baby?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Harry says defensively. It’s a seemingly innocent question, but Smith never makes any innocent questions. “Why?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing.” Smith shrugs. “Just - how do you know?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you care?” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Smith says, and Harry’s already half-ready to reach for his wand. “It’s just – there’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you know?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Smith, I don’t care-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If it’s really your baby, everyone will be overjoyed,” Smith continues, as if Harry hadn’t spoken. “But if it’s not – well, I mean, Malfoy did spend an awful lot of time surrounded by Death Eaters. If it’s one of theirs – if it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Voldemort’s</span>
  </em>
  <span>-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry doesn’t even reach for his wand; he punches Zacharias Smith straight in the nose.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Potter.” McGonagall’s nose is doing the angry-twitchy thing it does when she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>furious</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Harry would be scared about it if he weren’t still furious. “Will you give me </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> good reason why you broke another student’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>nose</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did him a favor,” Harry says sullenly. “He could use the nose job.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>McGonagall’s nose twitches again. “I know you were reckless and arrogant, but I hoped you’d grown out of it. You are going to be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>father</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Potter, and you are still breaking rules out of – what? Inability to control your temper? If Draco-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He implied Peanut is Voldemort’s,” Harry says, partly because he doesn’t want her to think that he did this simply </span>
  <em>
    <span>because</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and partly because he thinks she’ll be even more furious about it than he was. “As if Draco would willingly-” Or </span>
  <em>
    <span>unwillingly, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but Harry cannot even think about that possibility. “As if he would – Peanut’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>mine</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” McGonagall seems surprised, for a moment, before her face sets and her lips purse. It makes sense; she’s the quiet, cool type of angry person, but for once Harry wishes he could know what she’s thinking.  “Detention.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Me</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Harry asks. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” McGonagall says calmly. “You did break his nose, Potter. And don’t worry, this will be good for you.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry doubts it.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He should never doubt Minerva McGonagall, and, more importantly, he should know it by now.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is – your detention?” Draco asks, uncertainly. “And she agreed for me to come along?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Harry says gleefully; in McGonagall’s words, Harry’s detention was watching a friend of hers ‘work’, but, as it is becoming evident, McGonagall’s friend is merely showing them around various properties to see if one of them catches their eye. She has sworn secrecy to their address, too.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are we thinking, gentlemen?” Her name is Marianne Harlan, and she has short-cropped black hair and brown skin darker than Harry’s. “Any comments?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They're standing in the middle of a large sitting room in a small Wizarding town called Rochel. Marianne has been showing them the safest, most warded properties she has – apparently she specializes in that sort of thing – and though they’re all gorgeous, Harry hasn’t quite had </span>
  <em>
    <span>the feeling</span>
  </em>
  <span> yet.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you maybe have something more – private?” The bad thing about small towns is that people always know each other, and Harry has enough people thinking they know him to deal with nosy neighbors.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marianne’s smile is Cheshire. “I think I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> what you want.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They use a portkey – because one cannot apparate during the third trimester – and when the daze passes, they’re standing at the top of a hill.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This way.” She gestures, and Harry looks towards where she’s walking; at the bottom of the hill, a couple of hundred meters away, is a Mediterranean style house. “Come on.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco and Harry follow her; Harry can see birds flying overhead, hear them singing, and he hears waves crashing. He takes Draco’s hand tightly and leans over to peck his lips; he has a good feeling about this place.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marianne is listing things – square meters, bedrooms, kitchen and bathrooms – but Harry isn’t really listening, only looking around; this house is </span>
  <em>
    <span>the </span>
  </em>
  <span>house, he knows. It has huge windows, sunlight streaming in, more than enough trees, and the view outside is the best thing Harry has ever seen, apart from Draco.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No one lives around here, so you’d have all the privacy you crave,” Marianne tells them. “And you can still apparate into town anytime you want. Everything inside the wards would be yours. The grounds are gorgeous, and we’re on top of a cliff, but there’s a road down to the beach. It would only take a few minutes to get there, and it’d only be for you.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And the wards?” Harry asks.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Muggles can’t find it,” Marianne says. “No wizard or witch will be able to step inside without your permission.” She sounds smug and pleased with herself, as though she already knows they’re going to say yes. “I’ll give you a tour, and then we can go outside.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rest of the house is just as gorgeous as the entrance and the living room were: high ceilings and skylights, wide windows and a room with a charmed ceiling so they can stargaze at night. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The stars will be gorgeous here,” Marianne continues. “Because there is nothing else around.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even before they walk outside – and it is truly, honestly </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathtaking</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the view of the ocean, the cliff, and the rocks, and the trees and plants growing outside, the beach, all of it – Harry has made up his mind.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So?” Marianne asks smugly. “May I assume you want it?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry looks back at Draco – silent, the entire tour, with a touched look on his face and a hand absently stroking his belly – and Draco nods with an elated grin.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Harry says. “We’ll buy it.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The house is expensive, but money is, for what is possibly the first time in Harry’s life, not a problem. He has more than enough with the money his parents left him, and, if that weren’t enough, the Malfoy’s are </span>
  <em>
    <span>rich</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Harry thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> was rich, but the Malfoy’s are filthy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>obscenely </span>
  </em>
  <span>rich. Since Draco is the official heir and Lucius has no way to disown him from Azkaban, they’ve access to all of it.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco looks delighted to be spending a tiny part of the family fortune in their home, something none of his ancestors would’ve ever approved of, from the fact that they’re having a baby out of wedlock to the fact that Harry’s a half-blood. He relishes making them angry.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sign the contract before lunch, and, by the time they’re back at Hogwarts, they’ve officially bought a house.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Enjoyed detention, I gather?” McGonagall asks, with a discreet smile. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry nods, grinning, and then presses a deep kiss to Draco’s lips.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The winter holidays arrive faster than expected; between the healer appointments, daydreaming about his life with Draco and Peanut, and letting Draco nap on him – because it seems to be all Draco does lately – Harry barely notices time passing. Their break begins on Draco’s 32</span>
  <span>nd</span>
  <span> week pregnant – it's how Harry measures time now, by weeks of pregnancy – and they, very happily, go home, only to realize that they have no furniture, food, or really </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> that one needs for living.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They spend the next few days buying furniture for the house, and organizing the room they’ve decided is going to be the nursery. They paint it yellow, with stars and clouds on the ceiling, and buy everything the baby needs – from a checklist that Molly Weasley sent them – and a few extras, just in case.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are those your parents?” Draco comes up behind him and wraps his arms around Harry’s waist, belly pressed against Harry’s back, cheek resting on his shoulder blade.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Harry swallows tightly. It’s a framed picture – one of the few he has of them – of them on their wedding day, and they’re both laughing. He has never so fervently wished they were here. He wishes they could meet their grandchild.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.” Draco presses a kiss to Harry’s shoulder blade like he understands, and maybe he sort of does, because his parents aren’t here either, are they? Harry is hit by the sudden terrifying realization that his baby will grow up without grandparents, and then promptly remember Sirius, Remus, Molly, and even Minerva McGonagall. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe not grandparents by blood, but this baby will be the most loved in the world, Harry knows. They're going to have it so good.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright,” Harry says. It is, only a little bit. He turns and wraps his arms around Draco, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. “I love you.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you, too.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was thinking about what you said,” Draco tells him, when they’re sitting on the sofa they’d bought that afternoon and eating pasta Molly Weasley had owled as a housewarming present. Harry’s in joggers and a hoodie, because it’s mid-December, but Draco’s only in shorts and a short-sleeved shirt because the house is temperature-charmed and, as the pregnancy progresses, he seems to be running hotter and hotter. “About the godparents.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh?” Harry asks, distractedly massaging Draco’s thighs, resting on his lap, and looking over at his boyfriend; he’s balancing the huge plate of pasta on his swollen belly – and Harry never thought this would be a sight he’d get to see, but he cannot imagine anything better – and is concentrated on rolling his fork so that the melted cheese on top of the spaghetti will break off.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” Draco takes a big forkful and chews it, swallowing before speaking. “I was thinking – Weasley and Granger can be godparents, obviously, but – can McGonagall be, too?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Harry’s surprised; he already knows they’re close because of the war, but the possibility of McGonagall being the godmother of their baby hadn’t even occurred to him. The longer he thinks of it, however, the more sense it makes. McGonagall is responsible, and was something like safety for Draco while he spied, and is already half in love with the little monster growing in Draco’s belly. “Alright. Yeah, I think that’s a great idea.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Draco asks, beaming.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Harry nods. “Do you think Hermione and Ron can be godparents, too? Can we </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> three godparents?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco grins. “You’re the saviour of the Wizarding World, Harry, I think we could do pretty much anything we wanted.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm, you’re probably right.” Harry smiles and moves their plates out of the way, leaning over his boyfriend and pressing a deep kiss to his lips. Draco moans lightly and pulls him closer, knotting a hand in his hair, and Harry wraps his arms around him; he’s suddenly fervently glad they bought such a wide sofa.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We could-” Draco’s cheeks are flushed, but it’s impossible to tell if it’s from happiness or something else. “Go to our new bedroom?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not the first time they’ll have sex – obviously, as them having sex is exactly why they got into this entire situation – but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> the first time while they’re in a relationship, and, for some reason, that makes Harry nervous, uncertain and giddy in a way he only ever feels around Draco.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah,” he says, hoarse. “Yeah, alright.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You could lose the shirt,” Draco points out helpfully. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s Christmas Eve, and Harry is cooking dinner for the both of them while Draco snacks on a plate of peanut butter and soy sauce covered strawberries. Since there’s nothing really close to the house, and Harry greatly prefers muggle supermarkets, that’s where they go grocery shopping, and Draco’s favorite thing up until now is peanut butter and Toblerones. He’s easily eating half a jar of peanut butter a day – as Harry had found out when he’d been woken up in the middle of the night to go get more since Draco finished it while watching their telly at three in the morning – and a couple of the big Toblerone bars.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>In their first trip to the Muggle World – while buying furniture – Draco had been curious about so many muggle appliances and objects, and though Harry knows magic messes with them, he hadn’t had the heart to say no when Draco had asked to buy them, so now they have a magic house full of muggle appliances that sometimes work and sometimes don’t.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco has been tinkering with them to get them to work while surrounded by magic – which means they’ve already had to replace their toaster three times – and though it’s slow, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> working, as is testament by their newest toaster, which has been working for six days straight without a flaw. Draco is now working on the blender; they’ve replaced it once already. Harry dreads when he’ll move on to the telly, but he’ll let him, because he loves him, and he loves the borderline-manic glint in his eyes when he succeeds.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How would that help with dinner?” Harry asks, amused, while looking back at him; he’s cooking plain pasta – it's the only proper meal that Draco can eat lately that’s not Molly’s leftovers – and Draco is staring at him while lounging on their kitchen island.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It wouldn’t,” Draco admits. “But I get randy so easily these days I’d probably let you fuck me right here.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry chokes on his own saliva, coughing violently and glaring at his boyfriend, who grins.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” He blinks at Harry innocently.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We said we wouldn’t curse in front of Peanut,” Harry tells him. “And ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>let me’</span>
  </em>
  <span>? If you’ve brought it up, you want it to happen.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco’s cheeks flush, but he cocks an elegant eyebrow at Harry. “You don’t?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Since they had sex on their third night here, they’ve been – well, insatiable. Harry thinks it’s Draco’s fault, mostly, because of the pregnancy hormones, but he can’t deny that he’s had a pretty big part in initiating it as much as Draco does. Still, the kitchen seems – okay, well, hot, but not while Harry’s cooking dinner.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The pasta will burn,” he says.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pasta can’t burn.” Draco rolls his eyes, hopping off the kitchen counter. He waddles over, and honestly even that is turning Harry on.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Okay, maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> is also insatiable.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on,” Draco stands on his tiptoes and kisses his chin, and Harry’s hands automatically go to his hips. “Please? I want you, Harry.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And really, how is Harry supposed to resist </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, so it turns out pasta </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> burn,” Draco says afterwards, mildly impressed, while they’re both standing over their ruined dinner, Draco wrapped in a gorgeous emerald seashell quilt Luna sewed for them and Harry in soft joggers.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>told</span>
  </em>
  <span> you,” he says.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco rolls his eyes.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They end up having peanut butter, melted marshmallow, Nutella, and whipped cream sandwiches, curled up on a blanket and heaps of cushions in the observatory – what they’ve begun calling the room with the glass ceiling – watching the stars.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry doesn’t regret it for a moment.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>On Christmas day, they go to the Burrow for lunch. Draco eats more than anyone else – he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> pregnant, and he hasn’t eaten properly since they ran out of Molly’s leftovers, because apparently Peanut doesn’t enjoy anything Harry or Draco cook – and, after the meal, they all sit in the living room to exchange presents.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron was right; they get no less than sixty-four knit onesies from Molly, and she tells them – with an accusing look – that she would’ve had time to make more if they’d told her sooner.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Apart from that, they get more baby stuff from the other Weasleys, and their Weasley jumpers; Draco actually cries when Molly gives him his – too big for him, even in his pregnancy, but Harry already knows he won’t be wearing anything else for the next few days – and hugs her. Molly cries, too, and tells them that she’ll be demanding at least seven hours a week with Peanut once they’re born.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time they go to bed that day – after having greasy fish and chips for dinner that Harry apparated to the muggle world to buy – Harry is so devastatingly happy he fears he’ll never feel like this again.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulls Draco close, buries his face in his neck, and listens to him complain about being unable to sleep because Peanut is getting so big with a grin; a part of him knows that, with his family, this can’t be the last time he’ll feel this way.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It makes him fall asleep with a smile.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>On New Year’s, they have dinner at the Weasleys’, and then return home and sit at the edge of the cliff – with several charms around them to keep them from falling, because Harry is paranoid – and stare at the moonlight shining off the sea, listening to the sound of the waves crashing off the rocks underneath them, and it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>peaceful</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a way Harry never imagined his life could be.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t think he could be happier.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their winter break is over much too soon. The day before they have to go back to Hogwarts, they have a healer’s appointment. She assures them that everything is alright and asks if they have everything ready for Peanut’s arrival, which they do. Then she asks them if they’ve thought of any names.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry and Draco both seem to realize at the same time that they’re four weeks from their due date and do not know what they’re going to name their baby.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stella,” Harry offers, while they’re riding on the train back to Hogwarts. “If Peanut’s a girl.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll divorce you,” Draco deadpans, not looking up from where he’s reading </span>
  <em>
    <span>the Quibbler</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re not married.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re not naming her Stella, either.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” Harry says. “What about Lily?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No dead people.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Puts expectations on them.” Draco shrugs. “I’ll give you Lilith, though.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, Lilith.” Harry nods. “And if it’s a boy?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ron,” Ron says, from where he’s sitting across from them.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not on my life, Weasel.” Draco snorts.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, we did want to tell you guys,” Harry says, perking up. He'd entirely forgotten to tell them they were going to be godparents. “We want you to be godparents.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron and Hermione freeze, looking at each other before looking at them.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you serious?” Hermione asks; her eyes are watery.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, yes?” Harry asks, uncomfortable. Hermione almost never cries, and he didn’t think this would be such a big deal.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Harry,” Hermione throws herself at him, hugging him, and Harry pats her back awkwardly. When she lets him go, Harry doesn’t expect to be pulled into a bone-crushing hug by Ron.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Ron whispers, and, if Harry’s not mistaken, his eyes are a little teary, too.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco grins. “Are you crying, Weasel?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up, Ferret,” Ron says gruffly, sitting back down. “You cried when you got a jumper from my mum.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up!” Draco’s cheeks redden, and Ron flips him off with a grin.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Headmistress,” Draco steps into McGonagall’s office quietly, and McGonagall looks up from the letters she is writing.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Malfoy,” she says, looking at him over her glasses. “Is something wrong?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco shakes his head, stepping closer to her desk; he’s wearing the Weasley jumper he was gifted and soft trousers – he never would’ve dared step out like this before his pregnancy, but now nothing else fits him and everything is too uncomfortable for him to care – and he takes a seat without being invited to, but he can’t help it, he’s nervous.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he says, shifting nervously. “I came to ask you something.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go on, then.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco wrings his fingers in his lap. “Would you like to be Peanut’s godmother?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>McGonagall freezes; her quill, a centimeter from the page, drops an ink droplet, and it stretches across the page darkly, ruining the letter.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, Weasley and Granger are going to be godparents, too, but they’re a mess. Both of them, which I wouldn’t have thought of Granger, but she is, too, and if something happened to me and Harry I’d like Peanut to have a badass-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stops mid-rant, because McGonagall is hugging him tightly, and Draco doesn’t even know how she got across her desk, but all he can do is hug her back, even with his huge belly in the way.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll take that as a yes?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>McGonagall laughs into his shoulder.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Peanut is as big as a pineapple now,” Harry mentions absently, rubbing over Draco’s navel lovingly with his chin resting on his thigh, a book resting against the underside of Draco’s belly. They’ve both taken to using it as a resting place – from plates of food, to books, to inkwells, piling them high on Draco’s belly when they were wondering how many they could balance – and it’s quite comfortable.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m looking forward to pushing them out, then,” Draco says, sarcastically. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry looks up at him, pressing a kiss to his belly. “You don’t have to.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to,” Harry repeats. Draco keeps joking about the birth, but Harry can see fear under it, and he knows Draco is truly terrified of what might happen. Not only of the pain, not really, but male pregnancies are even riskier than female ones, and though, with both of their magical cores as strong as they are and Draco in the prime of health nothing should happen, things can go wrong in a second. “We can get a C-Section, if you want.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Natural birth is supposed to be better for the baby.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want you to be afraid.” Harry frowns. “Peanut’s not going to remember this, anyway.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not – looking forward to it,” Draco says carefully. “But getting Peanut cut out of me doesn’t sound any more appealing, if I’m being honest. The healer said I’m fit to give birth, so I’ll give birth.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to Draco’s thigh, this time. “Alright. I just want you to know you can make whatever choice you want.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco nods, face stony, and then sighs and lets his shoulders slump. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I - I'm scared,” he admits in a whisper. “I never imagined - I – my mother-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shudders and doesn’t continue, but Harry understands anyway; he wraps him in his arms, running his hands through his hair softly, and doesn’t mention it when the fabric on his shoulder begins to dampen with Draco’s tears.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They take their NEWTS in big rooms with anti-cheating quills, and it reminds Harry a lot of his first-year exams.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t believe everything that’s happened since then.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you believe only three more weeks and we’ll have Peanut?” Harry murmurs, hand rubbing softly at Draco’s belly. He’s sitting on their bed in the Hogwarts dorm – charmed bigger – leaning against the headboard with his legs open so that Draco can sit between them, his back against Harry’s chest.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Might be later.” Draco reminds him, dozing against Harry’s shoulder. “First time parents usually go past their due date. The healer told us so.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Harry says. “I just can’t wait any longer.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco cracks open one eye and gives him a grin.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know what’s supposed to induce labor?” he asks. “Sex.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry laughs. “We’re not-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door to their dorm room slams open, and Harry’s wand is in his hand in a second, casting a strong shield and practically flying off the bed, blood already pumping.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco makes a choked noise. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mother</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the doorway, in all her righteous anger, stands Narcissa Malfoy.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are </span>
  <em>
    <span>pregnant</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Her voice sounds deadly. “You are </span>
  <em>
    <span>pregnant, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and I, the grandmother of the child, find out from </span>
  <em>
    <span>the Prophet? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Harry Potter don’t you point your wand at me!”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry lets his wand arm drop, pointing his wand at the floor, properly chastised. His body takes a few more minutes to realize that there’s nothing to be fought, and his blood stops roaring in his ears, adrenaline pumping through his veins the way it did when they were on the run. He shudders. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mother, I-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“From </span>
  <em>
    <span>the Prophet, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Draco Lucius Malfoy!” Narcissa exclaims.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We tried to stop her-” Ron gasps for breath, arriving at the door, looking like he’d been running after Narcissa.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But she’s so fast,” Hermione is even more out of breath, hands on her knees, frantically trying to take up air. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m-” Draco begins.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A child out of wedlock!” Narcissa continues, and Draco shrinks back lightly, hand cradling his belly protectively with a hurt look on his face. “It is hardly proper of you, Draco, I thought I raised you better! And then you don’t tell me about it? I wasn’t here to help you through it – oh, darling, it must’ve been so hard on you.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I had Harry,” Draco says, surprised. Harry himself doesn’t entirely understand the rollercoaster that Narcissa seems to be going through, from angry to sweet to mourning.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, yes.” And then Narcissa’s cold eyes turn to Harry. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Him.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” he says lamely.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Narcissa’s nostrils flare. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You </span>
  </em>
  <span>got my Draco pregnant, and – what? Now you’re not going to marry him? If you were any bit the decent man everyone thinks you are-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You fucked off!” It is, unexpectedly, Draco who says it. Narcissa turns to him with an incredulous look on her face, and so does Harry. His cheeks are red, and – well, Harry doesn’t know if he looks more indignant or angry, but it’s hot. “You want to talk of decency? You fucked off to another country the second the war was over, mother, and you didn’t even have the </span>
  <em>
    <span>decency </span>
  </em>
  <span>to tell me about it! You want to know why you found out from </span>
  <em>
    <span>the Prophet</span>
  </em>
  <span>? I had no idea where you were!”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was hard for me to stay here,” Narcissa says fiercely, and, for once, Harry understands where Draco got his fiery temper, and not the quiet anger Lucius Malfoy carries, and that he, up until this moment, thought Narcissa did, too. “I cannot step foot in the manor, not with everything that happened in that place, and everyone here-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think it was easy for </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Draco snaps in return. “You think I loved staying here, in an empty house with father in Azkaban and you Merlin-knew-where?” </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> are a war hero, Draco.” Narcissa’s tone of voice is more controlled, but no less commanding for it. “And I wish you didn’t have to be, and I wish you were never put in that position, but you were, and you are, and I'm not. I did not want to trouble you with-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I found out I was pregnant in the middle of the summer and I had no one to tell because </span>
  <em>
    <span>you weren’t here.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Draco’s gritting the words out. “Harry was here, through all of it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He</span>
  </em>
  <span> has been to the Healer’s appointments, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> was here through the cravings, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> was here through the morning sickness. There were times when all I wanted to do was talk to </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and you weren’t here! Do you think I cared about what you did during the war? I know everything you did was to protect me, and I never would’ve - oh.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco cuts himself off in the middle of his angry rant, making a small sound of surprise. His hand flies to his belly.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” Harry asks immediately, moving closer and placing a hand over Draco’s on his belly and another one on his back. “What’s going on, love, talk to me.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I - I think my water just broke.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone in the room freezes.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Harry,” Draco says, panicked. “I think my water just broke, and it’s not my due date, so my water can’t have broken yet, </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stress can induce early labor,” Hermione says unhelpfully, and everyone looks at her.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh god.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh god.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh god</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not ready yet,” Draco says frantically, practically crushing Harry’s hand in his. “I’m not ready yet, Harry, I can’t do this yet, we had more time, we were supposed to have more time-”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco, it’s alright, it’s going to be alright,” Harry says, teeth grit through the pain. “It’s all going to be alright. We’ll get to meet Peanut soon, alright?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco nods, his face white, and then Healer Whitehorn decides to speak up. “Probably not soon, gentlemen.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What?”</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Draco, I’m afraid you’re only a centimeter dilated,” Healer Whitehorn says. “You need to get to ten before we can begin active labor. It could be a few more hours.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hours</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Harry asks, swallowing back a yelp when Draco’s grip tightens on his hand.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At least.” Healer Whitehorn nods. “Labor is longer for men than it is for women, and we can’t give you any potions until you’re at least at seven centimeters. I’m sorry.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mum - mummy, I'm scared.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, darling.” Narcissa presses a kiss to her son’s hair, running a cold damp towel across his forehead. “I know, but it’s going to be alright, baby, I swear it’ll be alright.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco sobs.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, darling, when it’s over you’ll have a little baby. Your little baby,” she hesitates. “And Harry’s.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Even if it is out of wedlock.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks at her son – her baby, the most important person in her life – lying in a hospital bed, crying, and terrified, and in pain, and she cannot bring herself to say what she knows her mother would’ve, to her.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll love them, darling,” she swears, kissing his forehead. Harry had gone out to floo Mrs. Weasley, Lupin, and Sirius Black, giving her a moment alone with her son, but he should be getting back soon; there will be no better time to say this. “I’ll love them, with all my heart, and my soul, and everything I can give, just like I love you. Wedded or not – even if Harry left – whatever else happened darling, anything you do, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I will never not be by your side, I need you to know that.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Draco’s grip tightens on her hand – her rings are digging into her bones, by this point, but she wouldn’t dream of saying a thing – and he nods, looking up at her, his face red and sweaty. </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay with me, please?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She kisses his forehead. “I’d never dream of being anywhere else.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Active labor begins twenty-one hours after Draco’s water broke. Peanut Potter-Malfoy is born at three fifty-seven a.m., and he’s a boy. It’s only then that both Draco and Harry realize that they hadn’t gotten to the male-name-choosing part, since they'd gotten distracted by the godparent-conversation with Ron and Hermione.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“James,” Draco says hoarsely. He still has tears drying on his face, which is blotchy red and sweaty, hair sticking to his temples.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The mediwitch hands him their baby, their perfect little miracle, still dirty and crying, tiny fists balled up in the air; he has skin like Harry’s and the darkest hair anyone’s ever seen.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You said no dead people.” Harry swallows, and he cannot look away from Draco and Peanut, the rest of his life all in one bed, and it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>devastating</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a way Harry didn’t know could exist.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He looks just like your father,” Draco says, laughing wetly, with more tears streaming down his face. “Just like you. A Potter through and through.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Harry pulls him into the most urgent, most desperate kiss in their life, because he cannot believe this is real.</span>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I really hope you enjoyed reading &lt;3 Find me on tumblr @mfingenius</p></blockquote></div></div>
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